Dead Hot Mama (20 page)

“Looking
for digital needles in haystacks of data, Doc,” said Gina in answer to Osborne’s rhetorical “How are you doing” as he hurried into Lew’s office. Lew’s desk was empty, and Gina was perched on her stool, the laptop open.

She swung around to look at him. “Chief Ferris was quite surprised to get your message on the Hikennen woman. She’s trying to find Ray and see if he can hustle up to Hurley for a list of employees of hers. Take his mind off Clyde, which would be good. I’ve never seen him so down.”

“Did he meet with Theurian, do you know?”

“Yes—and do I have news for you,” said Gina.

“I got a few pieces of information on the family myself,” said Osborne, pulling one of the chairs from in front of Lew’s desk around so he could face Gina.

“You first, Doc. I can listen with one ear while you talk,” she said, her fingers moving on the computer keys. “Need to finish this search on Chief’s new coroner, we got so distracted with the Theurians today.”

But Osborne wasn’t more than two sentences into recounting what Maddie had told him when Gina stopped typing, picked up a long, narrow notebook, and began jotting notes as he spoke. When he had finished, she turned back to the computer.

Osborne watched over her shoulder as she pulled up the archives of the
Kansas City Star
and searched for Eve Theurian’s name. “Yes! I saw this before, but I assumed it was just the obit,” said Gina. “Now I see there’s a longer story. Will you look at that …”

She scanned the story faster than Osborne could. “Excellent—it’s an in-depth profile of Theurian and his late wife … and all the sad things that happened. I’ll get a printout for you, Doc.

“And I know that reporter. I’m going to e-mail him right now that we need to talk. See if I can’t reach him tonight. I want to know what he knows that didn’t make it past his editors. That guy’s good, he’ll have his notes still. Now let me tell you what we found.

“You said you saw Theurian’s company listed on that handout? He’s been in the allograft business for about year. And he has been making purchases from funeral homes across the state, including the one run by the Michalskis in Armstrong Creek—which helps explain why your new coroner is so interested. Theurian products are all derived from human bone. Mainly femurs. And when he told Ray he was in cement—by golly he is. Specializes in powders, putty, and gels.

“And he appears to be totally legitimate. Chief Ferris and I are making an unexpected visit over there first thing in the morning. Just to see what the warehouse and lab looks like. It has become much too coincidental to have two victims with their legs severed—so close to a bone tissue processor.”

“He can’t be that stupid,” said Osborne.

“You just told me he’s suspected of killing his wife. Trust me, Doc, after twenty years of investigative reporting, I cannot tell you how stupid bright people can be. Now wait till you hear what else I learned this morning.

“Remember I promised Ray I’d do a search on Dave Theurian before he entrusted him with the Hot Mama? So, I got started. First thing I see is Dave listed as president and founder of Theurian Resources Inc. I go to the Web site. Very professional with details on all the freeze-dried products. And the equipment: cold rooms for product storage, screening units for size classification, mixers for product blending, drying chambers with microprocessor controls for biological products. Yadda, yadda.

“Back on the search under his name, I see some interesting history. Now we find out from newspaper stories that he was put on leave by his uncle shortly before Lauren’s mother died for suspected embezzlement from client trust accounts.

“After his wife’s death, the embezzlement was no longer suspected—he made it a fact. He stole five million dollars from trust accounts, converted it to hundred dollar bills, packed the money into suitcases in his car, and drove across Missouri, staying in cheap motels, until the cops caught up with him.

“At that point, he alleged having had an emotional breakdown. They put in him jail, he pleads insanity. And he gets off. The money is returned, he leaves the firm. Shortly thereafter he marries Karin Hikennen.”

“The man is crazy.”

“Crazy like a fox. I made a call to the
Star’s
business desk after I saw all this and reached one of the editors on the story. I was trying to figure out how Theurian made the transition from law to allograft tissue. I mean, where does that come from?

“Interesting answer. Shortly after moving to Kansas City with Eve, Dave Theurian was invited to join the board of one of the big hospitals there—surely thanks to Fruehauf family connections. That hospital is a pioneer in using allograft tissue. And they had their own small scandal when they caught one of their chief administrators making deals on the side with tissue processors.”

“Kickbacks?” asked Osborne.

“Yes—and they had several close calls with infections. But that’s where Dave Theurian did his R&D on allograft tissue. So when Chief Ferris and I go out there tomorrow morning, one of my questions will be how he learned about the business. Should be interesting, don’t you think?”

“How did Ray take all this?”

“He doesn’t know yet. Chief Ferris and I are damn sure Theurian’s just using Ray to get in with the funeral directors in Loon Lake, but we don’t want to come out and say that. Not yet anyway. Poor Ray. He’s so upset over Clyde’s death. We didn’t think it could hurt to let him meet with the guy.”

“So they had their meeting.”

“As far as I know, yes.”

Lew walked into the office. “Doc, I’m glad you’re back. Did Gina tell you what we found out about Dave Theurian?”

“She certainly did, and let me tell you what I heard.”

Again, Osborne told Maddie’s story. When he got to the allegation by Eve’s best friend that she was convinced Dave had had a hand in his wife’s death because she died with curlers in her hair, both Gina and Lew nodded thoughtfully.

“You don’t marry a woman like Karin Hikennen, a.k.a Mitten the sex kitten, within three months of losing your wife without some history of hanky-panky,” said Gina.

“It’s the curlers,” said Lew.

“I don’t get it,” said Osborne.

“A man wouldn’t,” said Lew, “but a woman who puts curlers in her hair is a woman planning ahead.”

“Sounds
like quite the day,” said Osborne. Gina had turned back to her computer, and Lew seemed ready to chat for a few minutes. Together they walked over to fill their coffee mugs.

“Hell of a day,” said Lew. “One thing after another. Started with young Lauren. We had a good talk, Doc. I think I’ve got her settled down and willing to give her dad some time to find out things on his own.

“Then she took some time with mug shots we’ve got in of some local no-goodniks, but no one looked like the man she saw with her stepmother.

“Around ten this morning we got a call on a nasty collision at one of the trailheads. I had to send both Roger and Terry out. Six people injured. Two snowmobiles came over a rise and plowed right into a group stopped down below. I’ll bet those riders were doing a hundred. No one killed, thank goodness. But we had to call in EMTs from Minocqua and Eagle River.”

Back at her desk, Lew collapsed into her chair. “If you ask me, Doc, when the holidays are over, I’ll need a vacation from vacation.”

“Oh,” she sat forward suddenly, “did Gina tell you what they found at Clyde’s?”

“Didn’t want to steal your thunder, Chief,” said Gina from her perch.

“I sent Ray out to help Bruce this morning,” said Lew. “First they went over Clyde’s cabin inside and out. They found some tire marks in the drive and went over to see if there might be a match to the ones over where we found the snowmobiles. They got a match all right—and found a strongbox, shoved down between the snowmobiles, with a hundred and seventy five thousand in small bills.”

“Are you serious?” Osborne was dumbfounded.

“I want to put a watch on the location. The only possibility I have is Bud Michalski and I’ll be damned if I can find that guy. I’m beginning to think he went to Vegas or somewhere. I finally located Arne—he’s at a family wedding in Milwaukee. Meanwhile I am really shorthanded. Roger and Terry have their hands full policing the highways and the snowmobile trails.”

“Bruce around?” asked Osborne.

“Right now he’s back in Wausau with that empty snowmobile suit. Wants to see if they can get some DNA off it. The girlfriend of the missing Tomahawk man identified it as belonging to him.”

“Doesn’t that make the DNA test redundant?”

“Well, someone had to remove it from the victim and could have scratched themselves or left traces of skin. Bruce is planning to go over it very carefully along with the two suits from the earlier victims.

“That was something else, by the way. I had those poor people, the girlfriend and the parents, here all morning. The parents brought over their son’s insurance records, so we were able to confirm that it is his snowmobile that we found.

“I’ll tell you, there’s one thing worse than dealing with people who have to claim a body, and that’s family that knows the worst but have to live in a limbo of not knowing where and how someone died. I made it a point to stay with them as long as they needed me.”

Osborne sipped from his coffee. Lew had lost her only son when he was a teenager. The framed photo on the bookshelf by her favorite chair showed a boy who inherited his mother’s dark and lively eyes, though he was tempered with his father’s bad behavior. She had loved him, and the hurt that the Tomahawk family had to be feeling she would know well: Her child, too, had been murdered.

“And how’s Ray? Is he doing any better?”

“I think. I’m keeping him busy, that’s for sure. He stopped in after his get-together with Theurian. Your message on Karin Hikennen had just come in, so I asked him if he’d run up to Hurley and see what he could do about getting me a list of her employees—formal or informal.

“That might take his mind off Clyde. He was so downhearted this morning. He went through the old man’s papers and still couldn’t find any sign of family members. Until we find someone, we have no one to release the body to.”

“Don’t let your new coroner close to Clyde,” said Osborne with a wry smile. “If he so much as touches the old man, Ray’ll turn that jabone into horsemeat.”

“Speaking of Bud,” said Gina from behind Osborne, “why don’t you two come over here for a minute. I’ve got some more information on his references, the funeral directors he interned with in Rice Lake. You know, the ones that were murdered …”

“The best reference is a dead reference,” said Lew. “Why does that seem appropriate for Mr. Michalski, who, by the way, is still not answering his phone. I would have loved to have him photographing the scene of that snowmobile accident instead of Terry.”

“Dock his pay,” said Osborne.

“Wish I could, but technically he doesn’t start until the first of January.”

Mugs in hand, Lew and Osborne crowded in behind Gina.

“So what’s this we’re looking at?” Lew said.

“This is an interview in the
Rice Lake Gazette
with one of the widows,” said Gina, scrolling slowly through the text. “She is quoted as saying that her husband and his partner had no business difficulties or personal problems she was aware of that might have led to the killings.

“But here she says that when she went in to do the bookkeeping after her husband’s death—and she was the bookkeeper for the business—she found records missing and some that had been handled incorrectly.”

“Huh,” said Lew. “Did they ever arrest anyone for the murders?”

“No record of that in the newspaper,” said Gina.

“If the widow was the bookkeeper, she may have known Bud,” said Osborne.

“That is one reference I would very much like to check,” said Lew.

“My mother’s family is from Rice Lake; why don’t I make that call, Lew,” said Osborne, checking his watch. “It’s only four, I might be able to catch up with the widow today. I’ll work out of the conference room.”

“If you’ll wait one minute,” said Gina, “I’ve got the name, we know the town and …” she hit a few keys, “there you go … here’s the phone number you need, Doc.”

Reticent at first, Margie Dondoneau warmed up the minute she heard that Osborne’s Métis grandmother was from Rice Lake. “My father is Métis,” she said with pride. “I’ll bet they knew each other.”

“I’m sure they did,” said Osborne. “And those were days when you didn’t always say you were Métis either. Took courage.”

“You better believe it,” said Margie.

After explaining that he was a retired dentist and a parttime deputy helping out with forensic dental IDs and randorn administrative duties, Osborne added that he was a widower and his duties as a deputy helped to fill the empty hours.

Margie clucked with sympathy. “You don’t have to tell me, Dr. Osborne. It’s not easy being alone. So what do you need to know about Bud?”

“Just confirming a few things on his résumé. Says here that he worked in Armstrong Creek before his internship with you folks.”

“That’s what he told us,” said Margie. “His uncle gave him a glowing report, but as it turned out, he wasn’t as experienced as we expected. Don’t misunderstand—he was a nice boy. It’s just that my husband got a little frustrated with him at times. He wasn’t
careful
enough. Before Bert’s death we were expanding our business with several companies in the health care field—”

“Oh, sure, the tissue processors,” said Osborne, his tone matter-of-fact.

“Yes, you know about those? My husband and his partner were pioneers in the field, you know. Ours was one of the first funeral homes in the state to establish an ongoing donation service. With transplants becoming more and more critical to the health care field, we were quite proud to be able to help families feel better about their loss.

“But those donations have to be handled very carefully, and Bud needed more than a little training in that area.”

Using what he had learned during the morning panel about the use of bone and skin-based matrixes in dental surgery, Osborne couched his questions in a way that led Margie to assume he knew more than he did. And she seemed relieved to talk to someone who didn’t find the subject abhorrent.

“Tendons and ligaments were what we trained Bud to help with,” she said. “But between you and me, that boy has a hard time with detail. Before I took over the bookkeeping for the business, I taught high school English. Well, I tell you, the day Bud told me his favorite book

was
How to Kill a Mockingbird
I just about died. That was the one time I suggested to my husband that we find someone else.

“The problem, Dr. Osborne, is you have to harvest quickly and under the most pristine conditions. We couldn’t count on Bud to do that. Now, as a coroner he should be fine. All ours does is draw blood, take photos, and keep the records straight. Everything else is turned over to our local pathologists. As a coroner, I would expect Bud to do just fine.”

“Margie, I’m glad to hear that. By the way, did I read somewhere that you had problems with records?”

“We got that all cleared up.” Margie’s voice tightened.

“Do you mind telling me what kind of problems? I mean, was it anything Bud might have handled? Accuracy in record keeping is an essential responsibility for the coroner in this jurisdiction.”

“Like I said, we got it all cleared up. Although … in fairness to the memory of my husband, I’ll be honest. Bud was involved. Again, it was simple sloppiness. The problem was limited to two families who were under the impression that they had approved organ donations only to discover a serious misunderstanding.”

“In what way?”

She sighed heavily. “They asked for a private viewing before the burial and found that more than the approved donations had been taken. It happened on Bud’s watch, and I think he just wasn’t paying attention to the fine print. He explained to us that he thought once a donor contract was signed that all tissues in good condition were available for use. That’s what I mean when I say he’s not the best when it comes to details.”

“Oh dear,” said Osborne. “How did you handle that?”

“It wasn’t easy, I’ll tell you. People were quite upset. The families filed lawsuits but we reached a financial settlement that they’re happy with. Thank the Lord I was able to keep the details out of the paper. My son-in-law is taking over the business, and that would have killed it.”

“How fortunate it was only two families.”

“Yes, indeed.” Margie had paused just long enough for Osborne to sense she
hoped
it was only two.

“Good,” said Osborne reassuringly. “Probably just a coincidence those were the records that were missing.”

“Oh no, the missing records were hard copies of my invoices to the processors we supply. I’m old-fashioned, and I like paper—in case of an electrical outage, you know. You know, the more I think about it, I must have done something with those myself.”

“You’ve been such a help, Margie, thank you,” said Osborne. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Any news on who they think may have—”

“Yes and no. They arrested a young man on the Minnesota border who’s been breaking into veterinary offices and funeral homes—looking for drugs. The police are convinced he killed Bert and Jeremy during an attempted robbery. Personally, I doubt we’ll ever know.”

Osborne picked up his notes from the conference room table and made his way down the hall to Lew’s office. Just outside her door, he could hear Ray’s voice.

“Our new coroner’s got an interesting day job,” Ray was saying. “Did you know he’s been working for the last six months as a bouncer for Karin Hikennen?”